Ceremonial Idolatry
by Lola Ravenhill
Summary: The Death Eaters in Azkaban are screaming that the double-crosser double-crossed them. If you scream loud enough and long enough, someone's bound to hear.


_Thanks to my beta, Elysia Snape. Also, many thanks to PaigeyPotter1218, and, as always, Jeri. Love you two!_

Ceremonial Idolatry

by Lola Ravenhill

"I heard things in Azkaban, Peter...they all think you're dead, or you'd have to answer to them...I've heard them screaming all sorts of things in their sleep. Sounds like they think the double-crosser double-crossed them."  
--Sirius Black, The Prisoner of Azkaban  
  
There were rumblings at Azkaban.  
  
Not rumblings of the seismic type, but rather discontented murmurings coming from some of the more notorious prisoners. These murmurings had reached Auror Susanna Diogenes' ears during a few trips out to the prison. One of her duties as an Auror was to escort any new prisoners out to the island: bind them up, portkey them out, and show them to their very own 8'x10' cold and damp stone cell for the rest of their days. Things had slowed down since the end of Voldemort's reign, but the degenerates of wizarding society still ended up out there, necessitating her visits.  
  
While Susanna was out there she heard a great many things, some silly, some strange, but more often than not, they were horrifying. She felt only the worst of the worst deserved Azkaban. If someone who just might have been innocent ended up there, her guilty conscience felt it had to try to change things. Sometimes having a sense of morality, especially in her job, was not all that pleasant.  
  
So she made an appointment with the Minister, feeling that going all the way to the top was the best way to work with something so potentially sensitive. She dressed in her most sensible Auror gear and robes, all working to give the effect of a strong and powerful law enforcement agent. Her light brown hair was pulled back and the makeup kept to a strict minimum.  
  
Sitting in the Minister's waiting room made her nerves falter, and she toyed with her finger nails, clacking them together frequently. She wondered if she would be better off if she just turned around right now and pretended she hadn't heard a thing. She squirmed in her chair, anxious to leave. Most Aurors of her acquaintance would do that. She suspected even her mentor, Alastor Moody, would do the same. Yet that little voice in the back of her head kept prodding, knowing that she couldn't live with herself unless she tried something. That kept her in that deliberately uncomfortable seat, even though the squirming didn't stop.  
  
After a few minutes of finger clacking Fudge's secretary (who had many physical assets but she was probably more than a little short on mental ones) looked up with a look of annoyance on her face. The clacking stopped, Susanna picked up an old issue of Witch Weekly instead.  
  
Before Susanna got into the article about household charms to get stains out of upholstery, the secretary cleared her throat and smiled in a practiced, false manner. "The Minister will see you now, Miss Diogenes."  
  
'That's Auror Diogenes, you daft bint,' she thought as she breezed past her. Her title of Auror was long fought for and hard won through years of work, and she was proud to sport it. She suspected the secretary had called her 'miss' though just to grate on her nerves. Anyone who knew her knew that wasn't a difficult feat.  
  
Inside the office Minister Cornelius Fudge was busy shrugging into a fancier than usual robe, no doubt preparing for some function or another. "Good afternoon, Auror Diogenes. You wanted to see me about something?"  
  
"Yes, I did, Minister Fudge," she said, standing in front of his desk. She was too nervous to sit down, and good etiquette said that as long as the Minister was standing, so should she. "It's about something some of the prisoners out at Azkaban have been saying."  
  
Fudge huffed, straightening his tie and checking himself out in a mirror. "That's not worth anything. They've all been driven crazy by the Dementors."  
  
"Sir, what they're saying has to do with the Potters."  
  
That gave him pause, she noted with some satisfaction. It had been five years since little Harry Potter had caused You-Know-Who's downfall, and things had been quiet. Anything that related to the Potters would definitely be an attention-getter. "Really?" He finally turned her way, and Susanna hoped she had his full attention. "What have they been saying?"  
  
She steeled herself and met his eyes fully. "They've been talking about who sold out the Potters to You-Know-Who. I've heard them on quite a few of my runs out there; it's not just a singular event."  
  
Fudge huffed again. This time it was a true sound of disbelief. "Everyone knows Sirius Black was the traitor."  
  
"Not according to the Death Eaters in Azkaban."  
  
"Excuse me?"  
  
Susanna took a deep breath, pushing back the nervous twinges at the base of her skull. "According to them, it's Peter Pettigrew." She saw Fudge's mouth open, no doubt to dismiss her again, but she pushed forward and the words just came tumbling out. "They basically want his head on a platter. Apparently Pettigrew told You-Know-Who where the Potters were hiding, which obviously led to You-Know-Who's destruction. And if it is true, it means we may have to reconsider what Sirius Black's role was in this scheme."  
  
"Impossible." Fudge settled himself down in his chair, assuming a position that was designed to make him look authoritative, although she felt it just made him look rather constipated. "We have it on Dumbledore's good word that Black was the Potters' Secret Keeper. We also have numerous witness statements saying that Pettigrew accused Black of being the traitor right there in the middle of the street right before getting blown up for his pains."  
  
She licked her lips, trying to rein in her temper. It wasn't out of control yet, but she knew her temper better than anyone, and it would be a wise move to start buckling it down early. "What if, though, that Black blew up Pettigrew because he knew that Pettigrew was the traitor, and wanted to avenge the death of his best friend? If I recall correctly he never had a trial so we never got to hear his side of the story."  
  
"So what do you want me to do, dig up Pettigrew's finger and ask it 'By the by, did you tell You-Know-Who where the Potters were?'" Fudge's face had turned a sickly shade of purple. Obviously, he wasn't too thrilled with her theories. He managed to calm down, and continue speaking. "Look, Auror Diogenes. It has been well established what happened that night and the parties that were involved. Even if Pettigrew was involved with it beyond his role of innocent victim, the chances of that being likely are miniscule.  
  
"And Black is guilty, guilty as sin, so to speak. Every bit of evidence we were able to collect points directly to him. A trial wasn't necessary, because the public had all of the ceremony it needed. They did not need a trial to prove that Black had committed the crimes attributed to them, because they knew in their hearts that he did it and he deserved all that he got. A trial would have been a waste of time, especially with how the world was five years ago."  
  
Fudge's speech was beginning to leave a foul taste in her mouth. That little bit of her that thrived on morality was protesting again, saying that it wasn't fair. Her Hufflepuff loyalty to her employer was starting to falter, and she wasn't all that fond of the feeling. "As Ministry workers though, shouldn't we make sure that all people are treated fairly, and that includes a trial for those accused?"  
  
His eye twitched briefly, but it quickly smoothed out. "As I said before, in cases like this where trials are more for the public than for us, the public got what it wanted, and the overblown ceremony of a trial was not necessary." His tone suddenly and rather surprisingly took on an almost paternal tone. "Ceremony is a funny thing. A Muggle writer I'm rather fond of once said: 'We must bear all. O hard condition, twin-born with greatness, subject to the breath of every fool, whose sense no more can feel but his own wringing! What infinite heart's-ease must kings neglect that private men enjoy!' He's basically saying that ceremonies, such as trials, are all for the ease of men, and it is the burden of us who are in positions of power to give them what they require. In the case of Sirius Black, we gave the public exactly what they wanted—the traitor."  
  
'The bastard's not answering my question,' Susanna thought, resisting the urge to grind her teeth. Her Auror sense was telling her though that she was not going to get a straight answer out of this politician.  
  
"Are we all clear on this?" Fudge continued, in a tone that clearly left no room for arguments. Susanna nodded, playing the contrite subject who was sorry for wasting the Minister's time with such frivolity, even though she couldn't quite agree. "Good," he said. "It would be wise, however, Auror Diogenes, not to mention this to anyone. Otherwise you just may find yourself permanently stationed out on Azkaban keeping watch over those prisoners."  
  
She bit the inside of her lip. Damn bastard was blackmailing her to keep her mouth shut. It was a good threat though; Susanna knew she'd toss herself off the roof of the prison if she had to stay there for so long. "I understand, sir. Thank you for your time, Minister."  
  
"Have a nice day." Once Auror Diogenes had left Fudge walked over to his fireplace and tossed a handful of floo powder in. When the face appeared he leaned in close and said: "Follow Auror Diogenes. If she mentions anything at all out of the ordinary about Sirius Black or Peter Pettigrew, obliviate immediately."  
  
'Slimy sleaze of a politician,' Susanna thought as she stormed back to the Auror offices. 'Bastard didn't even consider what I was trying to say. Then he tries to turn the Shakespeare on me.' She didn't publicize it, but before Auror training she had done her time at a Muggle university, at her Muggle mother's insistence. In her studies there were a couple of classes on the works of Shakespeare, and she was pretty damn sure she knew a little more about him than that dolt Fudge did. 'And he is certainly no King Harry.' A small smile broke out over her face. 'With any luck our little Harry will live up to the Bard's vision of an ideal leader ten times better than Fudge ever could.'  
  
She squeezed back into her cubicle and sighed heavily, yanking her hair from the bun. Her morality was still protesting, but not as intensely as before. Common sense and self-preservation was kicking in, and saving her own hide had to take priority over Sirius Black. Even if he was innocent, one lone Auror wouldn't be able to do much at all.  
  
Kingsley Shacklebolt, a young Auror who occupied the cubicle next to her, peeked around the side. "Are you all right?" he asked. "You look like you want to string someone up by their testicles."  
  
Susanna smiled and shrugged, attempting to put the conversation with Fudge into the little lock-box in her mind. "I'm fine. I'm just...searching for an honest man."

_A/N: The Shakespeare play that Fudge quotes above is Henry V, one of my favorites for many reasons. Diogenes is an ancient Greek philosopher who is rumored to have gone about Greece searching in vain for an honest man._


End file.
